


Bookstore Battles

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Books, Bookstores, Gen, Lies, Mind Games, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: Some customers make Ty mad, others put him in a creative mood...Based on an actual customer problem. People like this really do exist!





	

Ty knew the woman was trouble as soon as she walked into the store. She had that special look about her—a look that said 'demanding' with a capital 'D' and 'trouble' with a capital 'T'.

It took her only a couple of minutes to prove his suspicions right.

As soon as she realized who he was, she frowned at him and marched up to the desk, pushing an older woman aside. "I want a book," she curtly announced.

Suppressing his auto-snark response, Ty gave her a friendly smile and said, "Well, ma'am, you've come to the right place. What kind of book did you have in mind?"

"Not just _any_ book," the woman explained, frowning again. "One book in particular."

"Okay, then," Ty replied, putting his own novel aside. For now, the Ryders and Flytes would have to wait. "Let's see if we can find that book for you. Why don't you tell me what it's called?"

"I don't know what it's called."

"Okay, then who's the author?"

"I don't know who the author is."

Ty forced another smile and silently counted to five. "So what _do_ you know about it?" he asked.

"I saw a man reading it on the bus."

"You saw a man reading it on the bus?" Ty echoed, his eyebrows climbing towards his hair.

The woman nodded. "He was smiling and laughing while he was reading, so I thought I might enjoy it as well," she said, as if this somehow made perfect sense.

Ty opened his mouth, frowned, huffed slightly and closed it again. Was she serious, or yanking his chain?

Eventually, he managed to say, "Can you tell me anything else about the book? For example, do you know if it was fiction or non-fiction?"

This time, she shook her head. "I only saw the cover for a couple of seconds, so no, of course I can't." She waved a hand at the laptop computer, lying open beside him on the desk. "Why are you asking me all these difficult questions? Why don't you just run a search for funny books?"

Ty suppressed the urge to scream, or to reach out and strangle the woman to death. Why did this _always_ happen to him? Why did he get the assholes and weirdos while Garrett got the cougar moms and the good-looking men? Did he give off a scent that only crazy people could smell?

"Here's the thing, ma'am," he started in his calmest voice. "We've got a whole section full of funny books, and I can't find the one you're looking for without a _tiny_ bit more information."

The woman scoffed. "Surely it can't be _that_ hard to look up a single book?"

"It's real easy, ma'am, as long as I know _which book to look up_. I can't just pull the title out of my—out of thin air."

"The cover was white," the woman revealed, as if this magically narrowed the field to three. She frowned again. "Or maybe it was grey. I'm not really sure."

"So we're looking for a funny book you saw on the bus with a white or grey cover," Ty summarized. "Anything else?"

Her frown deepened. "I think the letters on the cover were black."

Ty gently stroked his chin. He hoped he looked as if he was racking his brain, and not as if he was thinking about how to murder the woman in her sleep.

A large pile of paperbacks under the counter caught his eye; some newly delivered novels they hadn't as yet had time to shelve. The book at the top had a white and grey cover, with the title and author's name in black.

Oh, God. Could it _really_ be that easy?

Yes, he decided, it absolutely, _totally_ could.

He snapped his fingers and grinned. "I've just realized I know _exactly_ which book you're talking about."

"You do?" the woman asked in a dubious tone.

Ty nodded, grabbed the book from the top of the pile and laid it carefully on the counter. "This is it," he said, giving her a confident nod.

"How do I know this is the book I saw?"

She was tricky, but he'd expected this, and his answer was primed. She might be 'demanding' with a capital 'D' and 'trouble' with a capital 'T', but he was a Grady with a capital 'G', and Gradys learned how to fuck with people before they even learned how to crawl.

"That's a very good question," he acknowledged, "but how do you know it isn't?"

Oh, but she was ruffled now. "Well, how could I?" she loudly protested. "I already told you I only saw the cover for a couple of seconds."

"It's the right book. Trust me."

"Are you sure it's a funny book?" the woman enquired.

Ty's grin almost fell away.

Crap.

In his rush to find an easy solution, he'd completely forgotten she was looking for an amusing read. He flipped the book over and quickly scanned the blurb on the back.

The Gods were smiling on him today. "It's a satirical novel, ma'am," he declared. "And they're _always_ funny." Assuming you were clever enough to understand what satire was.

"You haven't read it," the woman accused.

"No, ma'am. I haven't."

She glared at him as if he was an idiot in need of a village. "Then how do you know it's the book I saw on the bus?"

She was really making him earn his money today.

"Well, ma'am, this is the only satirical novel we have in stock right now that has a grey and white cover with black letters on the front, so it _must_ be the book you're looking for."

The woman sighed. "I guess."

"Would you like to buy it?" Ty asked hopefully. If it got her the hell out of his shop, he would give her the goddamn thing for free.

"I don't know. What if I read it and it doesn't make me laugh?"

Jesus take the fucking wheel. And people thought _he_ was nuts?

But he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"If it wasn't funny, would it have made the man on the bus laugh?"

"I'm still not convinced," she tartly announced, folding her arms across her chest.

"It's this one or nothing, ma'am. Your call."

She pursed her lips, thinking hard. "Okay, I'll take it," she eventually said. "But if I don't like it, I'm bringing it back."

"Of course, ma'am," was Ty's utterly cooperative response. "But just so you know, we only process returns on Mondays between five and eight." The one shift he never worked. Let her complain to Zane or Catherine instead. Catherine would eat this whacko for dinner, with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

Which reminded him—that was another author he wanted to try.

"But I work on Mondays," the woman protested. "And I'm not buying a book I can't return."

His verdant, luscious field of fucks suddenly turned barren and grey.

He snatched the novel out of the woman's hands and placed it back on the top of the pile. In his sternest voice, he said, "Sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I can't sell this book to you after all."

"Why not?"

"Because in the State of Maryland, it's actually against the law to sell satirical novels to people who work on Mondays."

"That's ridiculous!"

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't make the rules. I just follow them."

"Keep your stupid book," she said in return. "I didn't really want to read it anyway."

"I understand, ma'am. But I have to say, you're missing a real treat. It's an _insanely_ funny story."

"You just told me you haven't read it!"

"Oh, I haven't," he cheerfully acknowledged. "I just know it's extremely funny."

"How?!"

"It wouldn't be on the Monday List if it wasn't."

"I think you're lying," the woman announced, giving him another glare.

"I never lie, ma'am," he lied. "Especially about the Monday List. It's a _very_ serious state of affairs. If I sold you this book, the FBI would have me in handcuffs and leg irons by the end of the day."

"I thought you said this Monday thing was a State of Maryland law."

Uh oh.

"It is."

"But the FBI's a federal agency," she rightly pointed out. "Why would it get involved in a state-level matter?"

Think, Beaumont, think.

"For national security reasons, ma'am," he solemnly explained. "The TSA made Virginia and Maryland put the law on their books as well because they share a border with Washington DC."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously not convinced.

Ty said nothing but glowered back, measure for measure and pound for pound. He owned cats. If she thought she could win a staring contest, she'd come to the wrong place.

The woman looked away first. "I'm going home to find the phone number for the FBI," she declared.

"If I was you," Ty began, supremely grateful that he wasn't, "I'd start with the FBI Field Office over in Windsor Mill. Ask them to put you through to Special Agent Clancy. Tell her the bookstore guy from Fell's Point sent you. She'll understand."

"Clancy?" the woman repeated. "Like the man who wrote the Jack Ryan novels?"

Ty nodded, looked over both of his shoulders, then gestured for her to lean in close. "Don't tell anyone I told you this, but she's actually his illegitimate daughter, by a reader he met on the publicity tour for _The Hunt For Red October_ ," he whispered in his most conspiratorial tone. "It's why they put her on the Monday List task force in the first place. She inherited some of her daddy's gifts, so she knows her way around books like nobody's business. Not all of them, mind. She's a great FBI agent, but she can't write for shit."

"The FBI has a task force that deals with _books?"_

Another nod. "You wouldn't believe how much of the publishing industry's actually a front for organized crime. The Boston Mob's all over it, especially the historical fiction. And don't even _think_ about writing a food or travel guide unless you have a friend in the _Bratski Krug_."

The woman snorted. "How gullible do you think I am? Next you'll be telling me this bookstore's actually owned by the CIA."

"Now, now, ma'am. Let's not get _too_ silly here," Ty warned with a shake of his head. "I mean, do I _look_ like I work for the CIA?"


End file.
